The Devil's Assistant
by 221BiggerOnTheInside
Summary: Sequel to The Devil's Daughter: Jayne Hooper thought her life was finally turning around. She has a new start with her mother, and without her father. She has Sherlock and John by her side. She has a home, safety and solitude. Oh Jayne, how wrong you are.
1. Prologue - scratches

_Author's note: Hey guys! So I know I tried writing this quite a long time ago, but I read over it again and I really didn't like it. I wasn't sure what I was planning for it, but now that I'm a bit more sure, I've decided to try again. This is the sequel to The Devil's Daughter, and this is the prologue. I hope you enjoy! Please leave a review to tell me what you think, if it's better than the last one? Thanks lovelies xx_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, I'm just borrowing the characters for this story :)_

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**Revenge. -SM**

**Did you forget about me? -SM**

**What a foolish mistake. -SM**

**Scared yet? -SM**

**Your father would not be pleased. -SM**

**Be prepared. -SM**

**Think they'll look after you? Please. -SM**

**Remember who you're up against. -SM**

**You're useless. -SM**

**Worthless. -SM**

**Weak. -SM**

**I'm coming to get you. -SM**

**You can't escape. -SM**

**Nobody wants you. -SM**

**I don't know why your father bothered keeping you in the first place. -SM**

**He wanted you dead. -SM**

**He's going to get his wish. -SM**

**I promised him. -SM**

**A good man always keeps his word. -SM**

**Revenge. -SM**

* * *

The texts came floating in like rain clouds on a sunny day. They only escalated, like thunder and lightning. He was taunting her, shutting down her mind. Putting ideas into her head. Trying to kill her slowly. She hated to admit it was almost working. She didn't want it to. She tried to ignore them, delete them before she read them, but she just couldn't. The rain cloud would only carry on raining down persistent droplets onto her head. She needed to read them eventually, but once she did, she always regretted it. One word could haunt her for the rest of the day, the week, the month, or until she lay in her bedroom, tears falling from her eyes as if she couldn't get them out fast enough. They fell onto the white bed sheets, making dark wet patches in strange places. Jayne would always flip the duvet over, to hide the patch. She couldn't bring herself to tell her mother. She knew she was in danger, she knew he was coming. But telling somebody felt like making it real. If she could postpone it, hide it, bury the secret deep down until it couldn't be found, perhaps it would just disappear. A part of her told her that she knew it wouldn't, and reluctantly she knew he would come for her no matter what she did, but she didn't want to believe it. She didn't want to face the truth. Speaking the words aloud would make it real. Official. Finally a problem in everybody's lives. Her mother's, Sherlock's, John's...she didn't want to do it. She didn't want it to be real. Not real. Not real.

So as she buried it deep down inside of her, piling other thoughts and feelings on top of it so it couldn't be seen, inevitably it began to eat at her skin. It began clawing at her insides in desperate search for an escape, like a wild creature that didn't belong in the zoo. Soon enough, it was going to break it's way out of the cage, and leave a trail of destruction behind it. Jayne would not be able to stop the havoc the animal was going to cause in the zoo. But for now, all she could do was put as much weight as she could upon it, trapping it in it's cage, shutting the door and building up the walls as strong as she could build them. The creature was scratching and clawing at the walls of it's cage. Scratch, scratch, scratch. But one day her strength won't be enough. One day the thought wouldn't be the only thing trying to kill her.

**Your attempts will be laughable. -SM**

**Revenge. -SM**

Revenge. It was the one word that he kept sending. It was like a constant reminder of why he was doing this, what I had done. Was it what Sherlock had done? Was he already in danger? Scratch, scratch, scratch, clawing at the cage. Scratch, scratch. Jayne sunk deeper into her self, as if trying to make herself as small as possible, even though she felt as if she couldn't become any smaller if she tried. She was hunted. She was helpless. She was useless. Worthless. Weak. He's coming to get her. She can't escape. Nobody wants her. Why did her father bother keeping her in the first place? He wanted her dead. He's going to get his wish. He promised him. An evil man always keeps his word. His word - revenge. Her attempts will be laughable. His word? Revenge, revenge, revenge.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.


	2. 1 16 23 seconds

The walls, the ceiling, and the floor were all as white and as spotlessly polished as Jayne remembered them. She hadn't been in a hospital before Sherlock and John took her for the first time. The rooms brought back the memory, and she couldn't separate the fondness of the memory from the pain and weakness it carried with it. She pulled a face and shook her head a little, as if that would shake off the memory. Perhaps it would throw it into the sky and far away. Even Jayne knew that was just a fantasy, but she tried to ignore it anyway. She followed her mother down the corridor until she reached Molly's familiar lab - the one she always entered - and pushed open the sparkling white door. Her white lab coat floated out behind her just slightly at the ends, and for a while the only things that weren't a blinding shade of white around Jayne were her mother's skin and hair, and obviously, her own. Molly had been called in by the famous consulting detective to help him with a case. It was just the norm, as Jayne's mother had put it. Jayne smiled at that. She loved imagining Sherlock running after her mother for help and making her feel important. She also loved how her mother had invited her to join her in visiting the lab at St Bart's. Obviously Jayne had practically jumped at the chance to see Sherlock and John again. She hadn't seen them in two months. Sherlock and John had been the first two people Jayne ever learnt to trust in her short life, so it was more than understandable the impact they had had on the little girl. Molly held open the door with one of her small, slim hands, her fingers curling around the edge of it as she stepped aside so Jayne had enough room to enter behind her. Jayne gave her a grateful smile and a quick 'thank you' as she placed her feet into the room. She walked with her head down to start with, but once she was completely in the room and past her mother, she carefully looked up. She was startled - all eyes in the room had fallen on her in a somewhat stunned silence.

The familiar consulting detective was sat behind a long white table, with bits and pieces of lab equipment thrown haphazardly around it. He looked just the same - the same wild eyes that scanned you like a futuristic machine. All information processed. 1.16.23 seconds. Study completed.

Leaning his arm casually against the other side of the table was a friendly face that brought a bright, happy smile to Jayne's face. John Watson. The same old John with his warm, fond eyes that could make anybody feel at ease. It's like when you find yourself in a room full of strangers, but suddenly you spot one person you're close with. That was the effect that John could have in any situation. Jayne also knew that this part of John could instantly change in less than half a second, and the army doctor could make anybody feel small and powerless against him. He had fought in Afghanistan, and he loved the thrill of danger. That can make anybody seem frightening, and John particularly so. He could brake your bone before you knew it was happening, and he could argue his way into making you feel like nothing. That was something that Jayne found so intriguing about him, but it never stopped her from feeling relaxed around him. She was, after all, the daughter of former most powerful criminal in London. So for now, John Watson was the man who had saved her life, and his expression was the first to change from shocked to a soft smile.

Just that simple look could make Jayne feel at home, safe, and wanted. She couldn't resist it - she let out a gentle giggle as she ran up to fling herself into John's arms, like a child much younger than herself seeing their parent after the first day of nursery.

John caught her mid-jump with a laugh, pulling her up into a tight embrace. From behind them Jayne could still sense Sherlock's eyes upon her, and as much as she tried to ignore it she still felt exposed, like an exhibit on display. She buried her face into John's shoulder, sheltering herself from the detective to avoid him seeing anything more, if that was possible, but also helping her to ignore his gaze.

"Hello, Jayne," she heard John greet from behind her head.

"I've missed you," Jayne answered, her voice muffled by John's coat.

"I've missed you too," John laughed, and finally placed her dangling legs back down onto the floor. "How are you, Molly?"

"Yeah, good, actually. Good. Thanks," she answered. "So come on. What's this case, then?" Jayne's mother began walking over to Sherlock's side, but suddenly he didn't look interested in the documents, and equipment that he had been so engrossed with not more than a few seconds ago.

Jayne looked up at John with a wide grin upon her face, like a child who had just got themselves a stick of cotton-candy at the fairground. John's face wasn't the same as what Jayne had expected - he was also beginning to observe her, Jayne being able to find the same glint in his eyes as Sherlock's, their eyes jumping up and down her, taking in every inch of her. Suddenly Jayne's expression fell, and she took one cautious step backwards. With a sharp intake of breath, she snapped, "What is it?"

"No, no...Jayne," John soothed. "Nothing's wrong. It's just...you look so different. So much better, healthier. It's good to see."

Jayne let go, her tense body relaxing. It was true, she did look better. When she first arrived, she was skin and bones, dangerously skinny. She had messy black hair, that had never been cut unless Jayne ripped it off with some sort of knife. She was pale, and she looked like a ghost compared to any healthy human. Now, Molly had cut her hair properly, with a small pair of hairdresser's scissors as she sat in the middle of the living room floor on a Tuesday afternoon. It had also been washed, and instead of a black as dark as a witch's cat, it had lightened to a dark brown like dark chocolate truffles. There was more of her now, a healthier weight. Obviously she wasn't quite there yet, but at least she had gained some weight. It was a start, but there was still a noticeable difference, Jayne knew.

"Oh, right...I've gotten better," Jayne agreed, a sense of pride in her tone.

"Something's wrong," Sherlock finally perked up. Jayne's eyes widened. She knew it, she knew it. Scratch, scratch, scratch.

"What do you mean?" Molly asked him.

"Something's wrong with Jayne. Isn't there?" Sherlock clarified slowly, putting on his best 'I'm surrounded by idiots' face.

"I'm fine. I don't know what you're talking about," Jayne replied sternly. Scratch, scratch, scratch.

"Yes, you do." Crash, crash.

Jayne was silent. Stunned. Vulnerable. Hopeless.

Useless. Worthless. Weak. Revenge. Oh, god...oh, no...

There was nothing left. Crash, crash. Scratching, harder. Breaking, falling. "Sherlock?" Jayne's voice was quiet and hesitant, like a child at a headteacher's office.

She beckoned him over with a tilt of her head, asking to talk to him in private. She turned to walk away, and heard Sherlock beginning to follow. Scratch, scratch, scratch.

"What is it?" he demanded, his voice a harsh whisper.

"How did you know?!"

"When you walked in you held your head down, as if you were ashamed or afraid. Your right hand remained at your jean's pocket until you went to John. That's where your phone is, you can tell by the shape of it in your pocket. You were always so afraid of your phone, now you want to protect it, to hide it. When I looked to you, you looked away, as if you were afraid. Afraid of what I would find out - but you made it so blatantly obvious."

Jayne sighed, and rolled her eyes dramatically. "Of course. 'Obvious.'"

"Let me see your phone, then." Scratch, scratch, scratch. Breaking down.

Jayne remained still, but Sherlock just continued to glare down at her with those piercing eyes. Giving up, she hesitantly took her phone out her pocket with a shaky hand. She held it out to him, but the only way for him to get it was for him to snatch it out of her fingers before she knew it was coming.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

Crash, crash, crash.

Break, break, break.

Five. Four. Three. Two. One. All information processed. 1.16.23 seconds. Study completed.

"Moran."

Disaster.

Useless. Worthless. Weak. Revenge.

The monster's alive, it's real, it's here. Jayne couldn't hide it anymore. It was gone. Gone from her protection, and now he knew. Now everybody would know. The monster had escaped from the zoo.

"You didn't know?"

"Not at all."

There was nothing left. Everything was ruined, and the monster would only cause more damage. Jayne felt physically sick, her face paling and tears springing up behind her eyelids.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

Revenge, revenge, revenge.

Useless. Worthless. Weak.

"He's taunting you. Why didn't you tell anybody sooner? He sent you the first text two months ago!"

Useless. Worthless. Weak.

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Those were Jayne's last thoughts before her head began to spin, black dots clouded her vision, and her legs failed beneath her. She was down on the tiled floor. 1.16.23 seconds. Gone.

Weak. Worthless. Useless.

_"Please...just stop."_

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**Chapter One is here :) Any feedback would be greatly appreciated! xx  
**


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